Page 27 of Gator (Bourbon Kings MC #1)

“ Chèr .”

Grumbling, I swatted at the annoying fly and rolled over.

“Wakey wakey, Chèr ,” the annoying fly said. “Santa brought you a gift.”

“Go away, Wade,” I muttered, grabbing a pillow and placing it over my head. “It’s too early for your bedazzled dick.”

“Well, I’m not a sparkly dick, but I do have a glowing personality, or so I’ve been told,” a very familiar voice spoke.

Throwing the pillow off, I quickly sat up in bed and bumped my forehead into Wade’s face, totally ignoring the man as I scrambled from the bed and into my sister’s arms.

Jumping up and down and squealing like a five-year-old, I cried, “OH. MY. GOD! You’re here!”

“I think you broke my nose!” I barely heard Wade complain.

“I can’t believe you’re here!”

My sister laughed, holding onto me just as tightly as I clung to her. “Surprise! I told you I’d make it for Christmas.”

“How did you get here? You said all the flights were booked!” I gasped, pulling back just enough to look at her face, as though to confirm it wasn’t some dream.

“Wade planned it all. He even paid for the tickets,” Henley said with a grin, glancing over my shoulder at Wade.

Without thinking, I turned and jumped into Wade’s arms, kissing his face all over and accidentally bumping his nose again.

I looked up at him, my face still lit with joy, as Wade pinched the bridge of his nose, looking unimpressed, and muttered, “Pretty sure you broke my nose.”

“Oh, stop being dramatic,” I teased. “You should be used to taking a hit by now.”

Wade groaned dramatically, one hand gingerly touching his nose while his other arm instinctively wrapped around my waist to steady me. “You’ve got a strange way of saying thank you, you know that?” he teased with a lopsided grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief despite the slight wince.

Henley chuckled, stepping back to give us space, her delighted amusement filling the room. “I told him you’d react like this,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You owe Wade, big time, Sis.”

Still clutching Wade, I turned to Henley, my voice mock-serious. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll think of something,” I said with a playful glance back at him.

Wade smirked, his Southern drawl rolling out like honey. “ Chèr , after all the trouble I went through to make this happen, I think I deserve Lagniappe .”

“A what?” Henley asked as Wade wiggled his eyebrows.

“It means something extra.”

I laughed, knowing full well that Wade’s charm was his greatest weapon. “Fine,” I relented, patting his chest.

Henley grabbed her small suitcase and flopped onto the bed, letting out a long sigh. “I don’t know about you all, but I could use some coffee. Holiday travel is no joke, especially with a baby.”

“And where is my brother-in-law and nephew?” I asked.

“Downstairs,” Henley said, sitting up. “As soon as Wade’s mother saw Orion, she snatched him right out of Scribe’s hands. It wasn’t pretty.”

“And on that note, I’ll leave you two ladies alone to catch up. Though I don’ know what y’all have to talk about it. Ya FaceTime twice a fuckin’ day,” Wade muttered, mainly to himself, as he walked to the door, shutting it behind him.

Hugging my sister once more, she asked, “Alright, Devlyn. How are you doing really? Tell me the truth. Are you happy here? Is Wade treating you well? Do I need to get Scribe to have a talk with him?”

Sighing, I simply said, “It’s different here. Everything is different.”

“Well, Dev, New Orleans isn’t Rosewood. NOLA is a major city, not some quiet mountain town. There are similarities. Tourists for one, and Wade owns a bar, and he’s the president of a motorcycle club, so it can’t be that different.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Oh, it’s way different. The Bourbon Kings are nothing like the Sons of Hell. That is for damn sure.”

Henley brushed a strand of hair away from her face. Her expression softened with understanding. “I get it, Devlyn. Change is hard, even when it’s for love. But Wade seems... solid in his own outrageous way.”

I rolled my eyes, leaning against the bedpost. “Solid? He’s unpredictable, charmingly infuriating, and the king of chaos. But somehow, he’s also my chaos. And New Orleans, well, it has its own rhythm. I just need to find mine.”

Henley smiled knowingly. “You will. New Orleans has a vibe like no other. It’ll shake you, but then it will settle into your bones. And the Bourbon Kings? They sound like a handful. Are they—how should I put it—manageable?”

“Manageable would be generous,” I replied with a dry laugh. “They’re more like creatures of habit who thrive on adrenaline and loyalty. Wade’s in the middle of it, running his bar and his club like the master of organized madness.”

Henley tilted her head. “And you? Do you fit into all of that?”

I hesitated but nodded. “I’m learning. Wade’s world is loud and bold, completely different from what I’m used to. But there’s a certain freedom in it. A vitality that makes me feel awake in ways I hadn’t before.”

Henley reached over and squeezed my hand. “That’s all that matters then. You finding your place, even if it’s chaotic. And maybe someday, you’ll tell me all about the Bourbon Kings without the filters.”

I laughed as my tension eased. “Oh, trust me, the stories I could tell already would take days. But for now, let’s get that coffee you wanted. NOLA might be a major city, but caffeine is still a universal necessity.”

She nodded eagerly, and together, we headed downstairs, where the hum of voices and the scent of strong coffee awaited us.

Christmas in New Orleans was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Marabella had outdone herself decorating the large Crawley antebellum home. From large uniquely decorated trees in every room, to poinsettia plants, holly, and mistletoe hanging above every entry way.

The woman left nothing out.

Everywhere I looked there was something new to see.

Even the air smelled of celebration, a mix of cinnamon, pine, and something sweet I couldn’t quite place. The grand dining table was a masterpiece in itself, laden with silver candelabras and garlands of fresh greenery, while crystal glasses caught the twinkling light from the chandeliers above.

Making my way to the heart of the Crawley home, I found Marabella placing a bag of cold peas on Wade’s nose as Scribe laughed at him. My nephew Orion was sitting in an old wooden highchair as he chewed on some rubber ring.

“ M?man , it’s fine,” Wade grumbled, trying to duck away from his mother.

“Well, thank goodness it’s not broken,” she snapped, slapping her son on the arm. “What were you thinking, surprising a pregnant woman like that?”

“I was trying to be romantic!”

“Well stop it,” Marabella snarked. “Crawley men have never been good at that.”

Before Wade could retort, Scribe chimed in, his grin as wide as the Mississippi, “You know, Marabella, if romance were measured in bruised noses, Wade would be a Casanova.”

Marabella rolled her eyes and muttered something about Crawley men and their foolhardy ways. Orion let out a gurgling giggle from his highchair, as though even he found the entire scene amusing.

The happy moment was interrupted by the sound of the back door swinging open, followed by the loud, familiar ostentatious voices of the Bourbon Kings.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Worm, I saw him!” Donut said.

Worm rolled his eyes and groaned. “You didn’t see the ghost of Reginald Hicks.”

“How do you know?” Braveheart challenged, glaring at Worm. “Were you there?”

“Donut,” Juju sighed. “The ghost of Reginald Hicks does not haunt the bar. Bossman had me sage the entire place right before Devlyn showed up.”

“Excuse me?” I said, piping up as I glared at Wade.

“Did ya have to say that?” Wade moaned. “Now my woman’s gonna be bitchin’ an’ complainin’ all day, thinkin’ I thought she was a bad omen or somethin’.”

The room fell silent for a fleeting moment, the kind of stillness that only sharpens the chaos to come. Orion banged his tiny fists on the tray of his highchair, his giggles now morphing into triumphant squeals, as if he were the ringleader of this circus.

I leaned against the counter, cocking my head at Wade with a smirk that could rival the Devil himself. “A bad omen, huh?” I teased before looking around the kitchen at everyone. “Someone want to tell me who this Reginald Hicks is and why Donut swears he saw him in the bar?”

Wade scratched the back of his neck, his gaze darting to the floor as if it might open up and swallow him whole. “Well,” he began, his drawl slower than usual. “Reginald Hicks was—uh—let’s just say, he was a bit of an infamous figure around these parts.”

Donut, emboldened by Wade’s hesitation, leaned forward, his eyes wide with excitement. “Infamous? Try downright legendary! As the story goes, this Hicks fella was travelin’ on a ship and captured by the famous pirate Jean Lafitte.”

Thore nodded. “Yep, and this Hicks dude fell in love with a French Creole girl, Marie somethin’.”

“Marie Angel Beauchamp,” Juju groaned, picking up the story. “Legend has it that Hicks knocked up Marie and had to marry her.”

“Only, there was a war goin’ on,” Braveheart interrupted as Donut furiously nodded, snagging a cookie and eating it, enraptured with the story. “Can’t remember, but I think it was the War of the Northern Aggression.”

Wade rolled his eyes. “It was the War of 1812, you idiot.” He turned to me and continued, “As the story goes, Hicks and Marie were married by an old German Priest who was a prisoner in an Old Parish Prison, and Hicks was never heard from again. Some say he died during the war, leaving Marie a widow.”

“That’s so sad,” Henley muttered.

“But what does that have to do with the ghost Donut saw?” I asked.

Wade smirked. “The alley behind The Bourbon Bar is part of Pirate’s Alley. It’s believed to be haunted.”

“Oh, it’s haunted all right,” Donut quickly added. “I’ve heard the laughter. So has Braveheart.”

The big man simply nodded.

“Laughter?” I asked, my brow furrowing. “What kind of laughter?”

“The kind that makes your skin crawl,” Thore replied, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if the mere act of speaking about it might summon the ghost. “It’s light, almost playful, but it’s got this... edge to it, like it knows somethin’ you don’t.”

Donut wiped crumbs from his chin, staring off into the middle distance. “And sometimes, if you’re really quiet, you can hear the sound of footsteps. Not boots or shoes, but barefoot, like someone’s sneakin’ up behind you.”

Worm gave a snort of disbelief. “Oh, come on. Footsteps? Laughter? All of you have been spending too much time drinking at the Bar. There are no such things as ghosts.”

Juju shivered despite the warmth of the room. “I don’t know, Worm. My uncle used to say Pirate’s Alley is where unsettled souls gather.”

Henley’s eyes widened. “Unsettled souls? Like... Marie’s? Do you think she’s still searching for Hicks?”

Juju shrugged, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “Could be. Folks say love that strong don’ just vanish, even when the people do.”

Looking at Wade, I asked, “Do you believe in this malarkey?”

“Can’t grow up in the bayou and not believe in ghosts, Chèr .”

I didn’t know what I believed, and I really didn’t have an opinion on ghosts or whatnot, but I was pretty damn sure I didn’t want to meet one.